A Cold Night
by The Atomic Cafe
Summary: Stella breathed heavily, afraid, shaking, as she cocked the gun.


**A Cold Night**

**By Dimgwrthien**

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: NY or affiliates.

Stella breathed heavily, afraid, shaking, as she cocked the gun. A safe, government-funded, tracked and assigned piece of metal that had accompanied her for years. Too many memories of shooting Frankie returned to her, and she couldn't help but look at the woman in front of her as Frankie, even if she had longer hair and softer features. Guns always had that ability, the ability to make the person holding it appear to be all angles and rough edges.

"Put down the gun, Melissa!" she yelled, and her mind slowly replaced the name with Frankie's.

"Goin' to prison either way, aren't I?" Melissa asked harshly. She danced on the spot, uncertain, licking her lips as though she was dehydrated. The woman's hands still had blood on them from the last attack she made only seconds before.

Stella met her gaze, refusing to answer. Her mind was focused between the gun and the body beside her.

"Goin' anyway!" Melissa shouted, her voice breaking. Her dried hair shook around her face as much as her hands did. "C'mon! Just shoot then!"

Stella's hands shook. It had been a long time since she heard the sound of the bullets rattling inside the gun like that, and it only scared her more. When Melissa's fingers tightened on the trigger, Stella shot. The bullet flew through the air, and Stella thought she could see it as it broke all barriers of sound and the imagination, but time sped up again as soon as she heard the unmistakable sound of the bullet hit into flesh, digging, peeling away layers of skin and muscle and cracking into the bone. Melissa fell backwards and landed heavily on her back. Within moment, Melissa got back up, her chest bloodied, and fought her way to her knees. When Melissa was up again, tottering around the alley, Stella wanted to chase her, to make sure she died, but Melissa was already limping up the street.

Instead, Stella looked down to her side to see Mac where he had fallen. Falling down to her knees to reach him, she heard a scraping of her skin onto the cement, but she ignored it. Her mind searched dully though each and every first aid procedure she knew as she looked at the knife sticking out from between two of his ribs, lodged deep into a side. It seemed so much different than helping a victim or practicing on a dummy.

Mac stared at the knife, as though still unable to believe what Melissa had done. Stella touched the handle lightly and became aware of how roughly Mac was breathing. She grabbed at her cellphone, having to force her shaking fingers to tighten several times before managing to grab it. Her blood thudded in her skull as she dialed for the paramedics. _What the hell happened to the damn cops?_ she asked herself over and over again. Hadn't they been right behind them? Or had they all stayed with the last victim?

The phone rang and rang and rang in her ear, but she never heard the answer. Stella hung up and tried again, her brain still focused on Mac. No answer.

"Shit," she hissed, feeling her own legs dance involuntarily as Melissa's had when she held that gun. Stella touched Mac's cheek, afraid that she would already be touching the cooling skin of a corpse. His eyes slid shut.

"Not yet, Mac," she whispered, her eyes darting from his face to the knife. She grabbed at the walkie-talkie on her belt, the one that always went to the police cars, and pressed the button. "CSI Bonasera," she said into the speaker, her words tripping over each other. "Officer down, we're on -"

She paused, noticing the quiet from the other end. When Stella let the button go, she only heard the static of an out-of-signal phone.

"Can't tell me somewhere in this city is out of range." Stella dropped the walkie-talkie onto the ground, hearing the cracking of the breaking plastic cover. Her hands hovered over Mac again, trying to remember just what to do.

"Mac?" she asked loudly, finally pressing her hands around the wound, which seemed to stop some of the blood. She didn't know if that was the right thing to do, and she only then realized her hands were already covered in blood.

Mac's eyes opened a little, and he let out of breath. "Stella -" he answered. She heard the cracking to his voice and flinched. The knife was long, the kind used in kitchens to cut up large vegetables, and she could only see two or three inches of the blade outside of his ribs. It had to have gone through to his lungs, and her hands shook twice as much from the thought.

"They're not answering." Stella brushed a strand of hair out of her face and felt warm blood over her cheek. "They're - we're going to have to -"

It was a selfish wish, but she didn't know anything else to do. Stella wraps an arm around his shoulders, feeling her arm scrape the concrete, another part of her torn. "They should notice we're gone," she whispered to him, keeping her grip firm. "Just need to -" Her words were as much to comfort herself as to warn him. There was too much blood, and she couldn't smell another other than the metallic smell. It felt like it was in her face, in her mouth, covering her body, and the feeling sickened her.

Her hand wrapped tightly around the hilt, she slowly pulled out part of the knife. It had only released an inch or so when Mac put a bloodied hand on top of hers.

"Stella," he whispered again. She stopped, refusing to meet his eyes. "Stop."

She dropped her hand from the knife. Mac touched the knife himself, running a finger along the blade. He winced again and tried to fight his way away from Stella. When she protested, he shook his head. "Don't."

Stella was left to listen to his breathing, again harsh and pained. She crossed her arms, hugging her elbows as she watched Mac. He sat away from her now, holding the knife in place, resting on one palm. After another moment, Mac shifted onto his elbow, leaning against the concrete, slowly sinking down. He reminded Stella of a wounded animal, retreating to lick its wounds.

Edging closer, Stella touched Mac's shoulder. He didn't move at the touch, so she grabbed him again, gently easing him down into her lap. Mac's eyes opened again, watching her carefully, his hands still around the knife.

"They'll be here soon," Stella whispered. She ran a hand through his short hair. "I can get that -"

"No," Mac answered shortly. His eyes slid closed again, but he opened them. "You can - go and find them…" Mac winced again, loosening his hold on the knife. "They'll be - taking the - man to prison."

Stella nodded, unable to rebuke him. "Look, Mac… I can run and get a car, get you to the hospital. Hell, I'll carry you there if I need to -"

"No," he answered again, but his voice wasn't as sharp. "Just - just stay here."

She nodded again, feeling her raw throat close. Carefully, Stella touched one of the hands wrapped around the knife, noticing how he didn't seem to mind. His hand slowly wrapped around her in return, letting go of the knife.

She opened her mouth to offer to find the car again, but when she saw Mac's eyes slip closed, she stopped. The concrete under them was stained with a dark red blood, drying slowly onto their clothes and skin. Stella understood Mac's reasoning now, and felt her throat rip painfully as though she was about to cry.

His hand tightened on hers for just a second, then loosened. Stella's mind raced for a moment. _He's dead,_ she thought, feeling her heart skip a beat and send cold blood around her veins, but then she realized it was only a sign from him, just a simple gesture to say he was fine. Stella slowly squeezed his hand back, then felt the reassuring movement from him once more.

A police car pulled up behind them, its sirens off, but the engine running loudly in Stella's ears. She smelled the smog from the exhaust, finally glad for an escape from the blood. An officer stepped out from the driver's side and Flack from the passenger's side. Flack saw Mac and continued walking toward them, looking pale. The other officer went back to the car, calling in.

Flack kneeled beside Mac and Stella, ignoring the blood. After a moment, he took Stella's elbow. "C'mon," he said softly. "Sit in the car, alright?"

"He -"

Flack nodded. "I'll make sure it's alright. Just go sit in the car, alright?"

Stella hesitated, then nodded. She walked back to the police car, watching Flack and Mac carefully as she sat in Flack's empty seat. Flack sat beside Mac, taking Stella's position, supporting his shoulders. She saw him feel for a pulse, then make a gesture at the other cop. Stella watched the second one give her a sideways glance, then leave the car to sit beside Flack. They blocked Mac from view.

When the paramedics came, Stella felt her brain slowly faze out. They brought out a stretcher and a shapeless black item that it took Stella a minute to recognize. When she stepped out of the car and Flack grabbed her around the shoulders in a rough hug, a shield from the paramedics, she finally realized the situation.

"You asshole!" she yelled, unsure whether she spoke to Flack or to Mac's body. "Why couldn't you -" Her throat tore painfully again. "I hate you!" she screamed weakly, then grabbed one of Flack's arms. His hold on her tightened, and she found herself grabbing him back as she watched a paramedic carefully zip up the bag.

(A Cold Night)

When Stella woke that night, she found her body soaked in an uncomfortable sweat. She looked around, trying to find the clock, which glazed out the numbers to her: 2:12. She paused then sat up, wrapping her arms around her. Her cellphone sat beside her, and she grabbed it, scrolling down the contacts list until she saw Mac's name.

She knew there wouldn't be an answer, but the ringing of the phone in her ear comforted her as she called. It rang several times, then broke off suddenly. Stella wanted to hear Mac's comforting answering machine, to hear any sign of him again, but it shocked her when she heard the response.

"It's two in the morning, Stella," a tired voice said. "I know I say you can call anytime, but this is ridiculous."

"Mac?" she asked weakly, glad that she was already sitting.

"Did you mean to call Sheldon?" Mac yawned on the other end. "You never call my home phone. What's going on?"

Stella brought her knees up to her chest then held the phone with both hands, cradling it. "What happened yesterday?"

Mac sighed and didn't answer for a moment. "I was in the morgue most of the day with you," he answered slowly. "We had found two bodies the day before, and Sid found an interesting link between them. Then you processed their clothes while I did some research."

Stella nodded. "We weren't out on the field?"

"Not at all."

"Was one of the victims named Melissa?"

"We're still trying to ID them." Mac yawned again. "Stella, if you're losing your memory, I think a hospital will be more help than I could be."

Stella smiled, then felt herself shake. "Sorry, Mac. I just had a dream, and I wasn't sure if…"

Mac seemed to understand. She heard the sound of him shifting out of bed. "You alright?"

Out of instinct, she answered, "Fine," then paused. "No," she corrected.

From over the phone, she heard a drawer open. "Let me get dressed, and I'll be right over there," Mac answered.

Stella sighed, closing her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.

(A Cold Night)

When Stella pulled the door open even before Mac knocked, she couldn't bring herself to feel guilty about the dark shadows under his eyes and his wrinkled shirt. She only held the doorknob as a reassurance to herself.

"Hey," she whispered, letting him in.

Mac hesitated a moment before he entered. "What's going on, Stella?"

She shook her head, keeping her arms crossed tightly over her chest. It seemed childish now, and she couldn't bring herself to say anything more than, "Never mind."

He smiled. "Stella, I refuse to drive across town at night just to head back." He moved closer to her, putting a hand to her back as he guided her to a chair. It had been a long time since Stella could remember him making an effort to touch someone, to have any sort of intimate contact, and it comforted her. "Talk it out."

Stella's breathing came in ragged gasps, though they were quiet. It reminded her too much of the images from her dream. "I - I just had a dream. It's fine now."

"I'm not leaving until you stop crying," Mac said softly.

Stella touched her cheek, feeling the hot tears that had unconsciously fallen. They did nothing to help her, and she felt a bubble rise into her throat. She tried to swallow, but it seemed to create a blockage that wouldn't leave until she did cry.

"Do you ever have those dreams that - that just come out of the job?" she asked weakly, throwing her hands up in defeat.

"You mean about crimes?" Stella nodded, and Mac shrugged. "Of course. I think everyone in the lab and police department does. A few have gone to the psychologist about them." He touched her shoulder, his hand steady and his voice low. "Do you need me to set up an appointment with Sheila?"

"No." Stella wiped at her eyes, angry at herself. "No, Mac. It's just one dream." She sniffed. "I'm really sorry, Mac. I shouldn't have -"

Mac sat down beside her on the couch, then slowly grabbed both her shoulders. Stella stared straight ahead.

"Stella, if you needed to call me, there has to be something bothering you."

She stared at the hardwood floor, studying each change in color and pattern. "I just had this dream…. It felt so real, Mac, and you died in it."

Mac seemed to listen closely to her, though Stella couldn't bring herself to turn and face him.

"We were working a case, and a woman stabbed you. I couldn't save you, and Flack had to stop me from killing the paramedics on the spot."

"Thompson, 1996," Mac said quietly.

Stella turned a little. "What?"

"You're remembering that case. We found the victim alive with a kitchen knife through her ribs. The killer had just been shot down. You tried saving her, but she died before anyone could do anything." Mac rubbed her shoulder. "Is that it?"

Stella nodded slowly. "That was an actual case."

"Yeah." Mac nodded. "I'm glad to say that neither of us were injured in the field that day, save for you dropping your evidence case on your foot."

Stella smiled. "I just hate it when cases do that. You know what I mean?"

"Of course. Like I said, everyone in the lab suffers some trauma from the cases." Mac looked at the ground as he searched for words. "It's something most people like to have against detectives. We're vampires. When a person is dead, we look in ourselves and relate to the case. It's not about the relatives or the victim. It's us. Human nature."

Stella remained silent for a while, her fingers twisting together in nervousness. "Thanks, Mac," she whispered. "You didn't have to come."

Mac let his hand drop back into his lap, and Stella found herself missing the touch. "Should I go?" he asked.

"No." Stella curled her legs under her as she laid herself out over the couch, her head against Mac's shoulder. "Stay."

He hesitated, but Mac finally put his hand back on her shoulder, making delicate circles with his palm as he shifted and closed his eyes. Stella listened to the steady heartbeat, comforted by it. "I'm glad you're here," she whispered, holding him tight. Mac didn't answer, and she knew that he would never understand quite what those words meant for her.


End file.
